


Sea Breeze Echo

by PerfectDistopia



Series: Creek [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Amnesia, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Intense, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Little bit of angst, M/M, Mystery, homophobic Thomas Tucker, inhuman craig, inhuman token, violist tweek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectDistopia/pseuds/PerfectDistopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Struggling with memory loss, aspiring violist Tweek Tweak moves back to a place he supposedly lived in at some point called South Park. Without his memories, stress becomes too much for him until a stranger ,who claims to know him better than himself, has a voice similar to one that plagues his dreams every night as far as his memory could render...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night

Yes, I am weak. I lack strength in certain aspects, but I am not entirely helpless. Nor may I be courageous ,most certainly not, but that didn't stop me, because I kept going, running that is. I knew what direction I was headed, through the violet and indigo shaded forest, but my exact destination wasn't clear. The only light being the shining moon above me, but not the only guidance. It was the voice. With every wrong turn the voice would grow quieter, farther, but wen I went in the right direction the voice would grow louder and there would be searing pains all over my body. The pains felt like my own skin was tearing itself from the inside out, but I didn't care. If I had though I would have noticed a number of things I hadn't considered, but I couldn't care, the voice was calling, yearning for me, and I felt completely obliged to find its source. Unfortunately, before I could reach the voice I stumbled over a few tree roots or something of the sort, but either way my fatigue also added itself into the mix making my legs give out. Just as I hit the floor, the cuts and pains on my body seared immensely and a pang of guilt, regret or something but it was gone as soon as it came making it too quick to pinpoint the emotion. 

I jostled awake in my tousled bed sheets, sweaty, twitchy and with a loud “AUGH!” Sitting up, I cupped my hands around my mouth feeling my stomach churn unpleasantly. Quickly, I stumbled out of my room and into my darkly lit hallways that I had been used to for as long as I could remember. The bathroom wasn’t at all far from my room, so kept my hand against the wall against the wall feeling for the door knob and hastily rushing into the bathroom flipping the light switch in seconds. By this point, bile rose in my throat ready to spill, resulting in projectile vomit on my hands. EW, I hope I don’t get any sicker than I already am from this. The all too familiar feeling of regurgitation washed through my system, like I should to my hands. I hunched over as I heaved my stomach’s contents into the toilet bowl, realizing the tears that I hadn’t realized I shed. Despite my illness, I could hardly hear the sound of the half closed door being opened.

“Tweek?” my mother called.

She looked more exhausted and worn than usual except her hair looked almost as messy as mine. My mom rushed to my shaky figure kneeling by the toilet. Instantly she ran her hands over my back and my tousled hair. Once I had finally stopped puking, my dad came in with pills and a glass of water, to which I complied with taking after washing my hands of course. Once it was all over, my own drowsiness began catching up. Of course my mom was going to ask a bunch of questions in the morning, but I’m just going to leave it to future me to deal with. 

There was just one thing.

Why, exactly was I crying? Who was the source of the voice? Ugh. I would write it down in my dream journal in the morning. This wasn’t the first dream I’ve had to feature that voice. Ever since I moved in which was almost six years ago. I don’t know why, but I would be freaking out about this, emphasis on the, would be. It’s just soothing to hear the gentle low note that played in the same forest, at the same time of day, same everything! Only my actions were what changed. Dreams like those where always lucid and I could do almost anything. Once again, almost. I would be aware I was dreaming but I couldn’t exactly fly, or conjure someone from memory. 

Not that I have the best memory, but I don’t like thinking about it. It’s like my mind doesn’t want to remember it. It’s like my mind wants to forget something horrible, scarring or maybe even worse. 

Laying back in bed, my eyes instantly shut and my mind left this reality for another. A memory so close I could almost feel it. Almost like Déjà vu. I could almost hear the voice calling to me. It was so close but the searing pain would drown out the memory. Leaving me clueless and us alone.


	2. Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may add more to this chapter, but this is all for this weeks chapter.

I’m never usually a morning person, or at least not without my coffee. Over time, I’ve grown used to black coffee in the mornings so much, that without it my attitude is very, irate to say the least. So first thing in the morning is always my coffee. 

My room is littered with music sheets, pencils, paper, pens, and erasers so trying not to step on anything is futile, so all I can do is hope I don’t step on anything important. Next to my bed is a desk with a lamp clipped to its side. I slipped my hand around its figure, hitting the switch illuminating my room. Wait. Didn’t I close the door to my room last night? Ugh I can’t remember if I even dreamt after I threw up last night, but something else is off. I can hear my parents talking, but it’s not to each other, it’s to a third person. But, who?  
I snuck over to the end of the T-shaped hallway that parted my room to the left, my parent’s room to the right, and the bathroom in-between. Treading silently out into the hallway, I cupped my hand over my mouth so I don’t let out a single peep, but it didn’t suffice when I heard seven specific words that would turn my world upside down. “…We want to move back to South Park.”

“WHAT?!” I shouted startling the three, but I have to admit I didn’t mean to be so loud. “What do you mean we’re moving?!” Taking action, my mom gets up from her seat from between my dad and a well-shaped thin business man on the couch. As my mom led my twitching, hair-pulling, shirt-tugging, figure into the kitchen, the business man looked at me as if I was the weirdest thing he’s ever seen, in pajamas. 

She pulled out a chair and sat me in it. Getting me a mug from the sink she poured a cup of coffee she had already brewed beforehand. I thanked her taking a sip which steadied my twitching and stopped my hair pulling. Tiredly, she pulled out a chair and sat in it with her most stern expression, which is out of character mind you. 

“Tweek, for some time now we’ve needing to move out.” She states, “I need you to understand business here is slow and it’s beginning to affect us financially. Business for our coffee shop was better back in Colorado. It doesn’t exactly work here, unlike how it used to in South Park. Lately it’s been harder to pay the bills, for food, for the restaurant. Ever since school started, your father and I have been planning this.” 

“Which has been for a few weeks?” I stated more than asked. “Yes” She replied brushing her hands through her caramel colored locks. 

“So, uh when do we leave?” I asked, sipping from my warm mug.

“On Tuesday”

“PFFT-AUGH! T-THAT’S JUST THREE D-DAYS FROM NOW!

“Tweek calm down!”

“How where you able to sell the house that fast?! A-and what about Colorado? Huh? How where you able to find a house AND a place for the shop THAT QUICK?! HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THAT?!

Hearing my outbursts, my dad rushes into the room with the same douche that’s going to turn my life into a fucking nightmare.

“Is everything alright Mr. and Mrs. Tweak?”

Before I can utter another word, my dad ushers him out before tossing me a glare.

“Tweek, when we moved out, no one really bothered to do anything with it. I heard that everyone who’s lived in it so far has been driven out by some unknown means.”

Thanks mom, I’m really going to feel safe about living in this "South Park". “I have one last question” I said, calmly this time. “What do you mean move back? I don’t remember ever living there.”

“W-we uh, used t-to live there. When you were younger of course, way younger. That’s why you don’t remember.” She fumbled over her words, avoiding eye contact, and mumbling incoherent words that began trailing off…After my mom’s “pep talk” she sent me back to my room so she can resume business with the curly haired man that’s going to sell away my only memories. What fun to look forward to.


	3. Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like updating early this week, enjoy~ :3

The rest of the lulls by without anything really interesting happening other than the whole ordeal of the moving issue and the only comfort being my coffee, but even then it doesn’t completely rid me of my anxiety; which is why I listen to music. It really works in keeping my anxiety levels down and clears my mind. I can’t remember why or how but all I remember is habitually listening to game soundtracks or simple melodies composed by the greats like, Ludwig Von Beethoven, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Joseph Haydn, and many of the other greats. 

I guess that’s how I picked up the violin and viola. The two instruments are quite similar minus the string that gives them their signature difference. The violin has one string called the E-string that is the highest orchestral string, while the viola has a string that isn’t exactly the lowest but nonetheless a low key string the violin doesn’t have. I think I first picked up the viola in fifth grade, or sometime around there because I can play it better than I can remember when I first began playing it. All I know for sure is that I first started learning the violin in 6th grade and began to play 2nd violin and viola pieces throughout middle school, impressing many of my fellow peers.

I really don’t mean to brag, but my talent on the viola surpassed every other violist in my classes. No one else really has the years of experience that I do when it comes to the viola. I always thought surely that there would be people that would play way better than me, but surprisingly not. I get commentary from my 9th grade conductor that I have passion unmatched that visibly burns when I play, passion even greater than his own. Although I doubt it, I have to admit there is a strong desire whenever I even touch the instrument. As if when I play it, I play it for a cause, a greater purpose. Though, I wouldn’t tell this to anyone, it would sound really weird.

Excuse my ramblings, when it comes to music I love to just simply talk about it. Speaking of it, I actually don’t own both a violin and a viola, just one instrument body about 4/4 size to play the two instruments. I always have the strings set to viola strings, so if I ever wanted to switch to a violin, I’d have to loosen the pegs of the viola to remove the strings and tune them to their proper pitch. The only thing about this process is the chance of popping the strings and the time it takes to change the strings is long and boring. I just keep a few spare strings in my instrument case along with the other necessities of an instrument. Objects like rosin, a shoulder rest, my bow, and a cloth. 

With a sigh, I set down my coffee mug on my desk, done recording lasts night’s dream into my journal where I write down dreams that seemed important, or that gave me immense waves of déjà vu and whatnot. Not only do I record the events of the dreams, but the music as well, I mean dreams come from the subconscious, MY subconscious. SO, technically it’s my own music. In turn, I pluck notes that sound as accurate as I can make it. I always write my music on a staff of the Alto and Treble clefs instead of lazily writing the name of the notes, it would be confusing. Look, music is complicated so I’ll spare you an unimportant speech and just leave the subject as it is. 

I already have my viola at the ready, ready to play the mesmerizing music that drags me close to remembering something, but alas I know it never will, after all its just music, there’s no way some tune could remind me of him.


	4. Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a little late! As for thanksgiving's update, I had gotten a little too sidetracked with playing Undertale!

Wait, wait, wait. Who was I talking about? Him? Who is Him exact-AGH!

Instantly out of nowhere, a migraine wracked my body that pained most of my left torso ranging from my temples to the tips of my fingers; seemingly tearing its way through my head and it didn’t help that the fact that the room seemed ten times brighter all of a sudden. In the midst of my nausea and dizziness, dread filled my thoughts as familiar sounds began to resonate; images in my head began to form in my mind as a flashback began to take place.

I found myself picturing a smaller me trekking through what seemed like a city with a familiar, friendly aura as my senses fluctuated from the present into the past. I turned a few corners, crossed the street a few times, but I was a lot more lax in the memory than I usually am now, which is very unusual for me because I’m always a paranoid mess. Soon the haze clears and my insight of the memory changes as I realize this memory is a good one because as I treaded my way through the town I reached what seemed to be a forest. I make my way through the dirt trails, just as the trail I was on curved to the left, I made my way right and saw a small pathway leading to a river that was hidden by some dense brush. It was as if I had familiarized myself with these woods. I was amazed at how pristine and calm the surface that a flowing river can maintain. It looked pretty damn amazing to say the least.

I can feel the memory beginning to fade out and I didn’t, couldn’t find a way to keep remembering the events that partook afterwards, just before all my senses began to fail me, all I can ecall is me sitting by a large, grey rock before I hear an audible splash from the river.

Just like that, it’s gone and I’m left with questions that would never be answered. I mean, let’s face it, it’s not like there’s a person out there that I spent my whole life with that would know the exact time and date that I did something useful, or important, or ANYTHING at that! Ugh, I just sometimes wish there was someone like that. Not someone who remembers everything I did as a child, hell no that’s creepy. I mean someone who knows about my past better than I do. I would talk to my parents about it, but they always seem to recoil from their chipper personalities and become very avoidant when it comes to the topic of my history as an elementary kid.

I bring my fist down onto my messy, hardwood desk in irritation and accumulated anger. So much for music writing, I can’t work with a migraine and stress. I clutched the neck of my instrument tightly, huffing gasping for air as nausea and dizziness overthrows my former control of myself and I find myself crawling back into bed at 10am. 

Just my luck.

As I get comfortable, I recall a few flashbacks I had prior to this one. Once, while I was practicing with a 6th grader who was playing the viola for the first time, I had a flashback of me playing a melody that I think was one I hadn’t remembered recording onto my music journal. The only thing was, was that I wasn’t playing alone; my melody was accompanied by another by an entrancing voice alongside my music gracefully. 

Another memory I had recalled was when my family had visited a nearby park close to home I had a flashback of a smaller me giving someone a gift. A gift consisting of a deep blue hat, with a yellow ball of cotton at the top.


	5. Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the l8 upd8 I will probably add another chapter this sunday

Three days left until moving day  
My parents to pack up few things around the house like vases, décor, and some silverware along with a few other things around the house. Worry begins to settle in.

Two days left until moving day  
I came home from school to find that most of the furniture was in boxes or gone, along with one of the two coffee machines we keep in the living room. I don’t think my poor little heart can take much more of this. 

One day left until moving day  
All of the furniture was gone, minus our beds and a few things, my clothes are in suitcases, my music sheets are actually where they should be, and my desk was gone. Only my bed and my fear is left with me. I am in shambles.

Today is moving day  
The pressure is just too much and the stress is eating me from the inside out and for once I actually want to stay here if it means it meant that I can stick around. Is it so wrong to just want to live out my life here? But deep, deep, down, a part of me wants to move, awaits the thrill of moving to another part of Denver. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I can’t change or help the situation. Not at all. Nope. 

‘I’m going to leave this place’ is all I can repeat in my head. The teachers’ ramblings are just a blur in my mind and the review about solving for x or something flies in one ear and out the other. I’m kind of hoping that when we move, things won’t suck as much as they do here. I mean, moving to another part of Colorado sounds a little fun. It would be a change from this place’s bland nature. This place feels so uneventful, plain, and flat out normal. As if I were made for something more, something greater. Even then, who’d want a twitchy spaz like me? I suck at anything but being terrified about everything. With the viola being an exception of course. Well anyways, if what my mom says is true, and we did live there at some point maybe I’ll remember a thing or two and who knows; maybe I just might have a good time. Heck, maybe I’ll have the time of my life. Or I just might lose it. I just might reach a breaking point in my turmoil and paranoia and my mind will shatter and everything will just have to change. Who knows? I certainly don’t. 

The intercom above cackles to life, startling me from my train of thought. “Excuse me, but do you have err…” There’s a suspenseful pause, and some pupil seem more awake, pensively hoping that they get called from class but, I know it’s going to be me. My parents told me that they were going to pick me up early from school to finally move over to South Park. My time here is coming to an end while all I can do is sit here and twitch. “Tweek Tweak” the intercom speaks. I could practically feel the disappointment in their groans. The last of my things are in my backpack which includes my journals, music binder, and a few of my favorite novels and a spare change in clothes. I also have my viola with me, but it’s strapped around my shoulder over my black backpack laced with neon blue zippers.

I shivered having to walk out of class with all of their envious eyes having to follow me out of that room. But that would be the last they’ll ever see of Tweek Tweak. Not that it’ll matter to them anyways. Then I walked out of the 11th grade hallway, and into the office. The second my mom and I made eye contact, a worried smile graced her features; I guess those run through the family. 

“Let’s go honey” she mutters grimly still keeping her pained smile. We walked out of the office with her hand resting on my shoulder. I could see my dad parked at the front of the school, revving up the engine at the sight of us.

“I hope you’re ready to go Tweek.”

“Not for the life of me” I replied under my breath.

I swear I heard her utter,” Me neither”

I guess I’m a lot more like her than I thought.

As the vehicle pulls out of the curb and drives out of school property, the building shrinks farther and out of sight once we turned a corner. My mind becomes a beehive with my thoughts swarming, paranoid thoughts flying about in my head and the same questions I’ve had since I found out we were moving. Why? Why did we move from South Park? Why don’t they like talking about my past? Why don’t I remember? When did we move? Did something happen? If so, what could be so bad that we had to move? Oh god. What if we were being hunted by some cult or agency?! What if all this time I had a secret twin brother that was killed in our old home? But even then, how would they know if the coast was clear? AGH! These thoughts aren’t helping me solve anything. Music. I need my music. I shift from my spot from the right side of the car to get my viola case from the floor. I hastily unzipped the case, and softened at the sight of my treasure. It bested me with waves of nostalgia that I had grown familiar with. No matter if the viola was new or someone else’s, it would always make me feel safer no matter where I was. I grazed my fingers along the C-string, plucking it, generating a low key which sounded just about right. I sift through the pocket beside the instrument and pull out my rosin-covered phone. I can’t stress enough the fact that I really love this thing. Soon it’ll be one of my only good memories of this place. My parents said that the drive to South Park will take about 4 hours. “Won’t be too long” they said. Ugh, longest 4 hours of my life I thought to myself, while retrieving my headphones from my backpack. I take one last glance at my old home as the moving trucks roar to life. I can simply watch as everything I know becomes more distant from me, leaving an unsettling feeling in my gut.

Most of the drive was quiet, beside from my music album on my phone. We made a rest stop sometime during the trip, but I became drowsy and my music album relaxed my enough to get me to sleep. It wasn’t until I had regained consciousness when I had realized a few things. 1) My music track had stopped, 2) I didn’t have a dream this time, which rarely happens, and 3) My parents where bickering about the scariest thing.

“…can’t risk it…what if it happens again? What then?!”

“Look Helen, we just need to reestablish the company name, and then we’ll move okay!”

“It isn’t just ‘okay’; our son’s safety should come first! I want my little Tweek safe…”

“I understand that, but how will we support him and ourselves if we can’t afford our own bills?”

Then they fell quiet. I waited awhile, but they didn’t speak. I guess now would be a good time to “wake up”. I stretched my arms out and finally opened my eyes, but the first thing to greet me was the ever-loving brightness that met my eyes. I flinched then hunched over, feeling a wave of nausea slam into my gut. I cupped a hand over my mouth with a ‘hurk’. I let out a loud “MMF!” to get their attention, to which they pulled over to the side of the road. Not even bothering with my seatbelt, I swung myself to face the door, opened it, and hurled as the light blinded me. All I could see was white. Voices met my ears, and the dawning realization that I was having another flashback. The flashback of my first memory, the only one that never left me, but never really stuck with me either.

“Will he be okay? Doctor, please tell me he’s going to be okay!”

“Richard calm down!”

“I CAN’T I just CAN’T lose my boy!”

“…huh…”

“Tweek?! TWEEK? I’m here son!”

“…who?...”

“Honey, it’s us!”

“…I c-can’t…”

“You can’t what son?” 

“…can’t rem-member…”

“Can’t remember what sweetheart?”

“…a-anything…”

Shaken and trembling, I snapped back to reality by my mother calling my name in frantic worry. When I turned to look at her she unbuckled herself and sat next to me for the rest of the drive. I don’t know why or how, but I had been crying from start and end of the flashback. I assured her I was fine, but she stayed close to me. After what I had managed to recall, I let her hug me. I let her hold me tight. She thought she was comforting me, but I know that I’m reassuring her in my own way by letting her.

Whatever happened in Colorado, its not only my parents who want to forget about it, but my brain as well. The only things I can remember for the rest of the drive is the sound of a heart monitor, those same, sobbing voices, and my own weak one.

The remainder of the drive is silent. We made a pit stop more than halfway through the drive, but that was it. I had almost fallen asleep again, but I had been jostled awake by my mother because, we were home.


	6. New Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays Everyone! this took me hours to type out, stay tuned for next week's chapter!

 I took in all the details of the worn home. The house was colored a faded mahogany, had two front windows, and was very identical to every other home on this street, minus the color of course. It looked as if it had been through some harsh weather and other natural conditions, but it still looked good enough to live in. Just looking at it was enough to give me waves of déjà vu. Memories flooded my brain, images of a younger me resurfaced in my brain as well as prominent voices of my parents and a few others that I couldn’t recognize. All at once these things came to mind, but they weren’t exactly like flashbacks. Flashbacks are usually painful occurrences and present memories that impacted me more heavily than other memories. I shook away the images and cleared my head as best as my paranoid ridden mind could. What a great start.

“Man I haven’t seen this place in ages! What do you say we visit our old coffee shop? It might still be good for business.”

“It sounds nice, but we should get settled in first.”

“But Helen!”

 I tuned out the sound of my parents bickering about the rest of the day’s plans, to, of course, my mom won as usual. The once prominent migraine I had during the trip had already faded to a dull throb in my temples and was much more tolerable. I strapped my viola case over my shoulder and took my two suitcases of clothes and journals from where I sat. I waited on my parents to just get their bags so we can get settled in and get it over with.

“Tweek, Tweek dear can you get the door for us?” My mom called from her place behind the car.

“S-sure” I replied trying to not have a complete breakdown. I approached her and she held out a ring of two keys which I took from her hesitantly. Step by step I came closer to my new home. The closer I grew, the more the house seemed to loom over me threateningly over the puny little twitchy kid. When I reached the front step, I set down the two suitcases and held out the keys with trembling hands. Due to my shaky hands, it took me a few tries to get the key in its keyhole. Once I did though, I quickly turned it eliciting a soft click in succession. For a moment it petrified me. I stood in the shadow of the house that seemed to challenge me, daring me to open its front door. I turned the knob and pushed open the creaky door once I finally was able to regain control of my own body.

 The interior of the house was much like the outside, worn, but still suitable for living in. One thing for sure is that if it weren’t for the windows, everything would be pitch black because even with the windows it’s already hard to see. I tried to feel around for a light switch praying there was electricity in this house. To my luck, there I found the light switch and it perfectly illuminated the familiar room. The place radiated a familiar aura and definitely had a homey feel to it, but something about it still felt threatening.

 It was no surprise that I had to be the one to do most of the cleaning; I had to sweep the floors in every room on both floors of the house while my parents plotted what was going where and whose room was going to be whose. I had no real problem with the cleaning, that I was used to, but the only thing I didn’t like about it where the _bugs_ ; roaches, spiders, beetles-AGH you name it.  In the duration of the time it took me to clean out most of the dust and unwelcomed inhabitants, I discovered that the house was in pretty great shape. The bathrooms where well-kept, the closets weren’t completely overtaken with spiders, no cracks in the walls, and the property wasn’t damaged.

 The rest of the day drones on, mostly consisting of me sweeping around the house while the movers help unpack the furniture, more importantly my bed. Today has been a horrible experience and I just want to lie down. I would like to sleep, but tomorrow is my first day at this town’s school. Once the furniture was finally moved in, I noticed that a few chairs, the recliner chair, a few vases, and some paintings where gone. Even with all of our old possessions, I still felt uneasy, but a lot less than when we first got here.

 Tired and stressed, I headed up to where m new room was. I had to unpack my clothes and put the sheets back on my bed. But I didn’t do either of those things. I flopped onto the bare mattress glad to be over with most of the torture. Unfortunately it leaves me with one last thing to worry about, school.

 I sit up from my spot on the bed. I just realized something. My parents are talking, talking to someone at the door. I crept down the hallway, their conversation becoming clearer.

“…really, I am! I can’t thank you enough Sheila!”

“I think she understands that Helen”

“Oh don’t trouble yourselves, I can easily whip up another healthy casserole if you’d like”

“No thanks, all of us can make this last for a while, but thanks for the offer.”

 I figured this was going nowhere so I figured, might as well see if ‘Sheila’s’ casserole is edible enough for today’s dinner.  I waltzed over to the staircase until the topic changed, _drastically._

“Speaking of, is your son doing any better? The last time I saw him was in the hospital, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t remember anything about it and we try not to talk about it. The last thing we need is to relive that incident.”

“Relive what exactly?” I intervened. I made a brash move and I had only realized that just after I said that. I was sick of waiting and this was the only way I am going to find out. I also found out what ‘Sheila’ looked like. She was a short, round woman in a dress suit and has the weirdest fucking haircut.

 Both my mom and my dad _paled_ , but Sheila looked shocked for a moment until a streak of realization crossed her face and her expression quickly grew stern.

“Young man don’t you know it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations?!”

“Y-yeah, that’s very disrespectful” my dad said trying to regain his composure.

“Tweek, stay in your room until I call you, alright.” My mom said with a furrowed brow.

 I wanted so badly to yell at them because I’m tired of all their bullshit and I want some _goddamn answers_ , but whenever my mom said to do something, it was practically _law_ ; I also knew that they were only saying this to avoid the subject so I obeyed. I went back to my room and fixed tomorrows clothes along with my bedsheets. Eventually I got called down for dinner, but I was already comfortable in bed and I didn’t really have an appetite. I lay in bed tossing and turning, dreading tomorrow. I screwed my eyes shut, trying to drive away the thought of every worst case scenario my anxiety could conjure. It wasn’t until I started slipping into dream-like thoughts that I could finally relax. In fact I think it was the only time at all that day that I was relaxed. Maybe it was just the fact that the singing voice in my dreams was so mesmerizing. If that was the only thing that could keep me calm, tomorrow would be absolute _hell._

 Sometimes I think that’s why I’m so grateful that my parents own a coffee shop.

  The next day I kept two thermoses filled to the brim with coffee. My parents seemed way more jubilant than last night as they wished me good luck on my first day of school.

 All I had to do was find the counselors office and get my schedule. Seems easy enough I thought to myself as I headed over to the bus stop where the bus was already pulling into. As the bus doors opened, there was already a group of bickering teens who were there before me. They seemed familiar, but _everything_ in this town seems so goddamn familiar. I shook it off hoping my twitchiness, viola case, or hair attracts anyone’s attention. I got a few strange looks, but that was just the start I figured. In fact it has happened once before back in my old town. A group of kids I passed by at lunch gave me weird looks before they approached me afterschool and picked a fight with me for being ‘abnormal’. I have no problem fighting when I have to, but fighting with my instrument, and my backpack, were two entirely different things. During the fight with their ‘leader’ the other two he had with him stole my backpack, which did come back but not in one piece, and snapped the neck of my viola. When I had noticed, all three of them left home with broken noses and black eyes.

 I shuddered in remembrance. It took some time, but the bus had finally pulled in the parking lot alongside some other buses. It hissed loudly and the door opened, and in an instant everything went to _shit, fast._ People where pushing and shoving from every direction and I hardly realized what was going on before I held onto my thermos and my viola case for dear life.

“Move it new kid” a voice hissed through the crowd. As I suspected, it was only the beginning. I had made it out of the mob with everything intact to be met with another crowd in the school.

 Just find the counselors office I told myself.

“Move it werido.” Typical. The insults weren’t anything I wasn’t used to; it was just the school itself I wasn’t used to, and every single person in it. All I had to do was just occasionally sip from my coffee to keep myself from panicking too much. Sip. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“Freak” Sip. Inhale. Exhale.

“The new kid is a mental ward escapee” Sip. Inhale. Exhale.

“The new kid is a band geek, tch.”

“It’s orchestra dumbass” I hissed under my breath. Sip. Inhale. Exhale.

“ _Tweek_? Hey! Tweek is that you?!” Sip-AGH! WHAT?! I spit out my coffee mid drink out of panic. Who would be calling me? A stalker? AGH! I have to get away. I turned this way and that in a zig-zag pattern. I darted through a bunch of different people who yelled after me in anger, but I would worry about that later, I know someone is following me and I’d rather not find out. Where the hell is the counselor’s office? **Where the hell is the counselor’s office?!**

 I turned my head left and right realizing I had just gotten myself lost right as the bell had rung and the hallways began to clear and the voice grew louder, closer, it was inevitable. I shut my eyes petrified, ready to face whoever was calling my name until a teacher came to my rescue. Well, almost.

“Young man, where are you supposed to be?”

“U-uh the c-counselors office.”

“Oh, you passed it a long time ago. Say, aren’t you new here?”

“Yeah, y-yeah, I just need to get my schedule.”

“Oh, so that’s what all the rush is all about?”

“Yeah.”

“…tweek…” the faraway voice called out.

“Well in that case welcome to South Park High! What’s your name kiddo?”

“Sir! I have to get to class!”

“…Tweek!...”

“Oh yeah my bad! The counselor’s office should be-“   

“TWEEK!”

“Well why don’t you have Craig take you, it’ll be easier on my part.”

“Who?”

“Craig Tucker, he of all people would know where it is.” He said pointing behind me.

 I turned to meet face to face with the owner of the voice as he skidded to a halt beside us.

“Tweek, it’s good to see you again”

“Craig, take this boy to the counselors office and go easy on him” he said with a wink.

“Will do, Tweek we have a lot to catch up on!” the blue hatted boy said with a light-hearted smirk.

 I swallowed hard, today was going to be a long day.


	7. Catching Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years! This is officially the First Chapter of S.B.E of 2016. Hope this helps kick you off to a good year!

“What do you mean ‘catch up’ I don’t even _know_ you!” I exclaim. The boy just chuckles with the smirk on his face unwavering. Was this a joke to him?! Was _I_ a joke to him?! Was this some kind of prank? It probably is. What else could it be?

“Things have really changed over the years haven’t they?”

 Shit, that’s a deep question, especially for a prank like this. I don’t know if I can get through him if he keeps asking questions like that. Should I go along with it? I don’t think he’ll listen to me if I argue, so I should just keep quiet about my amnesia. I gulp and nod. He seems satisfied and leads me through down the hallway.

 He puts an arm over my shoulder and begins pointing down a few hallways which had signs bolted to the walls that had numbers written on them and depicting which hallways where to which grade level. The 9th grade hallway had the assistant principal’s office, the end of the 10th grade hallway lead to the gym, the 11th grade hallway had most art electives like orchestra (fucking sweet), and the 12th grade hallway didn’t really have anything it was just close by to the cafeteria. As Craig, I think that was his name, led me through the hallways, he kept asking me about my pursuit in music and it freaked me the hell out how he knew about my passion for music; he really went in depth about most of my passionate desire for orchestra. _Hell,_ he even knew about my favorite artists, my favorite of the two instruments I play, and in great detail my exact feelings when I merely _think_ about the damn instrument!

 Augh! This guy can’t genuinely know me, unless he’s a stalker of some sort. _Jesus!_ How much more does he know?! I mean this could be really coincidental. Probably, but what if he really _does_ know me? He might be able to tell me things about myself _I_ don’t know, but for all I know this could be an elaborate hoax. I just really don’t trust this guy to say the least. But if it is, what could he gain from it? What exactly does he want from me?

 Jesus, my coffee is really doing me wonders in soothing me today. I raise the thermos to my lips as Craig keeps rambling.

“The main office is that way, but the councilor’s office is through the 9th grade hallway.”

“Mm-hmm” I nod. Not much longer and I can just ditch him. I sip from my coffee again. Is it me or is it just that my coffee is choosing the best time in ages to really kick in and keep me calm.

“You haven’t said much, are you alright?” Craig really looked over his shoulder, directly at me, concerned. His smirk seems to have vanished. I nod averting my eyes. He had quite the powerful gaze. His stare doesn’t leave me, so I reply, “Really I am!” He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell that he can see right through me. “We’ll talk about that later at our old meeting place, but there’s something I have to ask.”

 I swallow hard. I brace myself for some kind of attack or for him to tell me that he’s been onto me and knew all about my amnesia from the start. I look up to see us nearing what hopefully was the office door.

“Where have you been for all these years? That group you said you used to hang out with said that you moved away because of some accident. Is it true?”

 In that moment, my mind began buzzing with questions. Wouldn’t he have known if I had moved or if I was involved in some kind of accident? What group? How long was I gone? Can I even trust this guy? AGH!

“I uh, I-I’ll tell you later” I said, my coffee ingestion and my twitching increasing drastically. I pushed past him and nearly slammed into the door trying to open it. I approached the lady who was seated in front of two empty chairs with straight, long, black hair who almost brightened up when she saw me, but her eyes followed to the third party behind me. Craig’s expression had changed to a monotone one devoid of any emotion.

“Again Craig? Who’s your friend?”

“I j-just need a schedule”

“Name please.”

“Tweek Tweak”

The lady looks up at me with a raised brow.

“Yes I know, my first name is spelled with two e’s and my last name is spelled with an ea.”

 She turned back to her computer mumbling something, shaking her head before the printer to her right begins to hum and spit out a sheet of paper. I thanked her after she handed it to me.

“And you? What happened this time?”

“Nothing”

“Oh yeah, ‘nothing’ gets you sent here, Tucker”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

 I quickly took the opportunity to escape by tiptoeing backwards clipping my thermos to my backpack and shutting the door behind me. As soon as I was out of the room, I broke into a sprint remembering which hallway was the 11th grade hallway. My viola case and my backpack suddenly felt heavier as I dashed from the councilor’s office. The strap of my instrument case that slung over my left shoulder began to burn with irritation although I pushed through the pain and kept running. I read off the schedule as I ran, first period English in room 307 with Mr. Harley. It should be near here.

 305,306,307! I’m safe from that Craig kid. I just hope I don’t have any classes with him.

 I burst into the room mid-lesson. Everyone stopped to look at the blonde twitchy kid who can’t seem to calm the fuck down. “Who may you be?” the teacher asked, thankfully not mad.

“T-Tweek” I say not bothering with the last name. My twitching hasn’t calmed in the slightest since my mad dash here and the last thing I need is more attention.

“May I see your schedule” he said pointing to the sheet of paper in my hands. I hand it to him and he skims over it nodding his head. I let a few grunts slip out along with my habitual lip biting and shirt tugging. The unwavering attention from everyone else in the room is making it hard for me not to resort to my other bad habit of hair tugging. Everyone and everything is really starting to freak me out.

“Alright take a seat in the third row.” I comply quickly, glad that everyone turned their attention back to the teacher as he resumes the lesson.

 I sigh and remove my instrument case and my backpack, not before taking my thermos and hissing in pain from the burning sensation in my left shoulder. Before I drank from it, I realized that I had consumed almost the entire bottle and it was barley first period. I hope my second thermos lasts longer than this.


	8. School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update! I'm going to be updating three chapters this week cause my writers block has been lifted!
> 
> EDIT: I lost my writing journal and the two chapters i have left to write are going to be put on hold until I can relocate my journal, apologies for the disappointment.

 First period rolled by for an English class, not because I was late, and I was kind of engrossed in the lesson. So far, I like Mr. Harley. Getting to my next class was going to be the difficult part; I have to be sure I don’t run into that Craig fellow. I stepped wearily out of the classroom keeping an eye out for any sign of a blue hatted head, to which there was none. I glanced back down at my schedule, 2nd period math, room 301 with Mrs. Stevens. I make a mad dash out the doorway, my viola case bumping into a few people. I hope to god he, or any associates he might have, doesn’t have any classes with me

 My second period is math, whoopee. I groan, math is definitely not my strongest suit, nor my favorite subject, I don’t think math is anyone’s for that matter! Ugh, I want this all to be over. I guess the only good thing that came out of it was the security of no one recognizing me in that class. The class was duller than dirt, absolutely nothing really happened. It almost kind of sucked. I walked out of that classroom half asleep, all those relentless nights of tossing and turning in bed really came back to bite me in the ass. I tiredly look over my schedule, 3rd period orchestra, room 325 with Mrs. Belle. _Holy hell_. I can’t believe my luck. My homeroom is orchestra. Pinch me, I _must_ be dreaming. I sprint for the door as the bell sounds, dismissing us. The halls flood with teens and I bounded for the orchestra room. I couldn’t wait! I keep my eyes peeled, but to my surprise there’s no sign of him anywhere; my luck is really proving itself worthy today. The class is full of students of mixed levels, some 9 th, 11th, and a few 12th graders where in that class, so that meant that the complexity of our music was not too difficult, but not too easy to pick up at first glance. I told the teacher I could take the place of a second violin and that I mainly stick to playing the viola. Mrs. Belle handed me two of our music sheets and I paired up with a 9th grader who looked at me like I was a ticking time bomb. At least it could be worse. But it could also have been better.

 God, throughout the whole day, never have I been so relaxed; in fact I came out of that class twitching _way_ less, which is an entirely new sensation. Is this what it feels like to not constantly live in fear? I like it. A lot in fact. The music we played was absolutely elegant, Midnight Rain by Susan Day. I wish I could listen to it all day. But sadly I had almost immediately went back to being twitchy Tweek knowing that I had to leave my viola behind in an unlocked locker since everyone else had no spare room in theirs. Dicks. Well, I had to get to 4 th period eventually.

 Science wasn’t all that bad honestly. Next class was history, the last period before lunch. Still no Craig, still safe for now. I’m still kind of shocked that my luck has been able to last me this long, but I hope it doesn’t suddenly fail me and I’ll be forced to confront him. I guess I can only avoid it for so long or him rather.

 Three minutes until the bell rings.

 Two minutes until the bell rings.

 One minute until the bell rings.

 The bell chimes loudly and everyone begins to rise from their seats in a hurry and everyone begins to pile up at the doorway pushing and shoving. I can’t blame them; I’m doing the same thing, minus the shoving part, definitely no one wants to stay in history longer than they should. As much as I want to have this day over with, this place feels like it has more in store than just textbooks and homework; it manages to keep things a lot livelier than my old school. Like the Craig issue for example. I despise thinking about it constantly, but it’s so perplexing! He acts like he knows me, to which I think he might actually does, but he seems to have missed some major event of my past that caused me to move away in the first place. If “Craig” really did know me, he could shed some light on my past, but the main problem with that is if he can be trusted. For all I know he could be fully aware of my amnesiac situation and be trying to manipulate me for some malicious reason. Although it is tempting, I don’t know who or what I’m risking if I were to trust this guy and not to mention that by now I probably would’ve had a flashback by now. I mean, his hat is pretty familiar, but Craig himself…not really. It’s weird, I feel like I should know him, but I have a nagging feeling that in some sort of sense he doesn’t belong here. I can’t really put my finger on it, but what I do know for sure is that I want nothing to do with him or his antics. I just have to stay on my toes and keep a look out for him.

That shouldn’t be too difficult. Shouldn’t it?


End file.
